and when our hearts unfold
by Talacen
Summary: There once was an angel and there was once a man... You should know the rest, it's in the history books, baby. Dean/Cas
1. Love story for a new age

_And when our hearts unfold_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural_

_Pairing: Dean/Castiel_

_Spoilers: 6.22 _

-I-

_It's a love story for a new age—"National Anthem" by Lana Del Rey_

"_All of this, I do all of this for you."_

Nothing is certain, not in the mortal world, this place where death is just a heartbeat away. Nothing is certain but people try to make it that way, humans with all their flaws trying to make it so, desperate, dying creatures so lovely in the time that passes. So lovely, so tragic.

Dean Winchester only has one life to live. All living creatures know this, animals, humans and angels. Death is a figure that hovers, hovers, until a time fate decrees and then it is over, just like that. Castiel knows this. He has been born to accept this.

But he cannot.

For Dean Winchester, he cannot.

Angels accept that death must come to all those who are mortal, but God does not. God makes His own rules, and mortals can become immortal with just a thought. For the life of Dean Winchester, this is what the angel Castiel becomes. A monster or a God—such a thin line between the two—Castiel does not become God for just anyone, no, no. Even if his intentions appear good…

Castiel knows what it means to be selfish, and he's not about to give Dean up to anything, not even Death.

"This will destroy you both in the end, no matter how strong you become," Anna told him once, too long ago now, as she stared up at the stars. "It will destroy you."

But what is destruction?

Castiel used to know what it was; now he only knows how to cause it and absolve it. A thing, like all others, that bends to his will, destruction is his to utilize and for Dean, for Dean—

"We will have eternity," Castiel says as the world creaks, as the humans look on at him in horror, in awe. Sam Winchester looks sick. Bobby Singer looks terrified. And Dean Winchester—

"For you, Dean Winchester, I give you eternity as mine, and mine alone."

Dean looks at him like he expected it, but his eyes are sad and lost. But never mind that; Castiel is God now, and God will erase that look from his face. When he kisses Dean—finally, finally—there is the taste of ashes somewhere between the slide of tongues and Dean's touch on his chest, a single hand as though to push him away, is so cold.

"You can't deny me anything," Castiel tells him as he moves inside of the human body, so breakable beneath him. It is not the revelation it should have been. "You are mine." It is a universal fact now, seen in the bruises that mar Dean's body, bruises the shapes of hands on his hips. Hidden worlds and wonders in those dark marks, constellations for the new age, Castiel's age.

Dean bows his head as though he is praying, but Castiel doesn't hear it over the sound of flesh on flesh on flesh.

Outside, the sky is so light it hurts, the clouds like splinters, the world a slow moving decay of love.

-I-


	2. Beautiful to me

_And our hearts unfold_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural _

_Pairing: Dean/Cas_

"_Nothing that moves on land or sea has seemed so beautiful to me,"—Equestrienne by Natalie Merchant _

-II-

Dean is not a liar, but he is a good at denying things. A thick head and thick skin, he walks through his life thinking that there is nothing that will ever get to him and maybe it would have been true, maybe, if not for the idiot feather brain in the rumpled trench coat. No, an angel of the Lord hell-bent on shaking Dean up, Castiel is not like the others, who are so easy to ignore, so easy to use, or dismiss.

But Castiel—Cas-sets his teeth on edge over and over again, makes something inside of his race wild and too hot every time he doesn't understand a reference or, of course, does the head tilt thing. The head tilt and blue eye combo will be the death of Dean someday, of that he is sure.

It doesn't help that Cas tends to stare at him all the time and, like a fool, he stares right back. Into those fathomless depths which house secrets a puny human brain could not even begin to comprehend, an ancient color that transcends the human blue irises reflecting back at him.

Sometimes, in moments where the power and pressure of that gaze, all-seeing and endless, bores into him, Dean thinks that he can see fate, his fate, Sam's fate, the world's fate. He thinks he can see everything he could ever hope for, all the good things left to him and Sam and all the greatness the world has yet to lose.

When he is losing himself in those eyes, he does not see Castiel as he presents himself, a thing of flesh and blood wearing Jimmy Novak's face, but the thing—the being—hidden beneath the façade, the heavenly creature who knows all of Dean, a concept that is both terrifying and like now, staring at each other in the darkened parking lot of the motel, thrilling, so thrilling.

Staring has always been enough for Dean; he doesn't want anything more and Cas can't give it to him anyway, even though Dean doesn't quite know what it is Cas can't give him, or what it is he even wants.

(Except he does know, he does, all the cells in his body screaming rebelliously for just a touch. Denial is a demon, the devil, and it is burning him slowly.)

There is something different about now, this moment, then the thousands of others that have occurred. Dean is alone, Sam in the motel room probably researching like the nerd he is, and Cas had been waiting for him, one with the shadows and air until the impala had pulled up. But now he's stepping closer, stepping up into Dean's personal space like always, easy as breathing.

And Dean doesn't mind when he should, he always has before and he should mind now. What's different about now?

The warmth of the angel's body seeps through the air between them and Dean is breathless, something like fear trying to claw its way up his throat, something like hope trying to overcome it.

Within it all, this broad abyss inside of him, he could only whisper, "Cas—"like something holy, something greater than God. And the angel listened, and those perpetually chapped lips were on his and no, no, it's wrong except that it's so completely right. Maybe everything had been leading up to this, those nameless looks that actually had names, and the eyes that actually held something other than heaven.

And yeah, it was happening anticlimactically, in a motel parking lot of all places but Dean just held Cas, whose lips were whispering prayers against his own, closer and closer and thought that it could not get any more perfect.

And the stars spin above and the earth moves below.

-II-

_Thanks for reading! :) if you couldnt tell by now all the stories are based on a lyric from a song I have, and I use shuffle so they're...random to say the least! _


	3. The nature of daylight

_And our hearts unfold_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural _

_Pairing: Dean/Cas_

-III-

"_On the nature of daylight" –Max Richter_

The days are numbered and the nights are long.

Castiel watches Dean Winchester sleep with a heavy feeling in his chest that makes him have to draw breath, necessary, unnecessary. In the darkness, to mortal eyes, Dean's face would not be visible but Castiel is an angel, and an angel sees it all. The lines that are starting to form from age, the freckles that make up constellations of darkness, the tanned lean lines of a body in repose.

Cas can see the way the human's brows are furrowed, can almost see the nightmares that are taking hold of him, realistic nightmares of the world ending and Sam dying and Castiel leaving. The angel wishes that he had enough left of him to erase them, to ease out those too real fears and replace them with the false comforts only dreams can offer, but he cannot. He doesn't possess the strength or the power, not anymore, not for all his will and his desperate desperation to save this, this precious but miniscule human breathing gently in the darkness before him, spread out like the sweetest sacrifice.

Lost in his thoughts, those things so new to him, as terrifying and lovely as his beating heart racing inside of him, Castiel doesn't notice the green eyes open and train on his silhouette, hunched over like invisible wings are weighing him down. And maybe they are.

"Cas?" Dean breaths out into the gentle dark space between them and knows, knows without seeing that those otherworldly blue eyes are trained on him, as always.

"You should be sleeping," is the angel's soft reply, the sound of an exhale like a sacred whisper. Dean pushes himself up on his elbows, sheets rustling and slipping down his side to his hip. Castiel's eyes flicker to the revealed chest, to the thin skin which covered the heart Castiel is so attuned to, beating a staccato rhythm in the room.

"Have you been watching me all this time? Damn Cas, you really are creepy you know."

It's meant to be a joke, Castiel knows. It's always a joke. In the bed across the room Sam rolls over in his sleep and lets out a single long breath.

"Does it bother you that I like to watch you sleep?"

Dean is quiet for a moment, shifting beneath blankets, suddenly feeling too hot. Castiel knows that Dean wishes he could see him and Castiel is grateful for the darkness; he is not sure Dean will like what he will see here, the night before the end, in Castiel's heaven drained eyes.

"I never minded it," Dean replies softly, delicately, as though he is revealing a big secret and perhaps maybe he is. Castiel never knows where he sits with Dean Winchester and it is singularly the most frustrating and fascinating thing he has ever known. Perhaps he doesn't know many things at all. For all the he was once an angel, he is just now starting to see with eyes wide open.

When Dean moves in the dark to the side to create a space next to him, Castiel feels his human heart skip a beat, feels the heaviness in his chest start to ache.

There are a thousand reasons why this should not happen but then they have already passed that threshold, haven't they? When the angel Castiel first glimpsed the burning bright soul of Dean Winchester in the pits, he knew even then where it would lead, the he was to be damned but in the loveliest form possible, in tanned skin and a smirking mouth and green, green eyes.

Lying side by side in a small sagging motel room somewhere in Georgia, an angel curls up against a man and feels for the first time the sharp spike of tears at the back of borrowed eyes that are now his eyes. And a man, with the apocalypse in the horizon, presses a wet kiss to the back of an angel's neck and for the first time reaches out to God.

_Oh what good am I? _

_Heaven only knows. *_

-III-

* Last lyrics are based on the version of "On the Nature of Daylight" that features Dinah Washington called "This Bitter Earth/On the Nature of Daylight"


	4. Me for mine

_And when our hearts unfold_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural_

_Pairing: Dean/Cas_

-IIII-

_Poor little turtledove, _

_Sitting in a pine, _

_Mourning for your own true love, _

_Why not me for mine?—"The Bachelor" by Patrick Wolf_

Dean understands Death. Death has spoken to him, looked him in the eye and smiled. Death has a face, if not a name, and Death will take him when the time comes.

It should have been now. Dean wants it to be now. This is not the first time Dean has called for Death, and it won't be the last.

"You wish for me to save him," Death says, inches from the man. "You wish for me to bring your angel back to you."

"You can, can't you?" Dean chokes, eyes not on Death but the ground, the clumps of grass that are missing from the earth. Nearby a swing starts to creak in a slight breeze, echoes of children's laughter long gone now, at home in bed with sweet, sweet dreams.

"You can bring him back to me."

"I cannot," Death sighs into the wind. "I will not. There is no reason for me to obey _you_, Dean Winchester. The angel Castiel means little to me."

Desperation is a funny human trait. It can bring about madness in the sanest of people. Death watches it work now on Dean Winchester's face, sees his hands clench into fists at his sides as his jaw works furiously.

"But he means something to _me. _I'll give you anything you want to have him back."

Death rolls dead eyes. "And what can _you_ give me, human? You have nothing that interests me. What makes you different from all the other mortals who have lost loved ones? They have asked for me too."

Dean Winchester's eyes are so red and dark when they meet Death's, straight on, straight through. "But you didn't show up for them, did you? You're here now, with me. Why are you here then if you're not going to help me? You must have known what I would ask."

"You know me, Dean Winchester," Death tells him. The night is so very dark now, everything hushed. "And I know you. But just because you know me, have felt my icy touch, does not mean that you are immune to it. The angel Castiel was good, but Death does not regard good deeds or evil deeds. Death simply takes, and what I have taken I can never give back."

"What if I trade you?" the human says. All harsh words with barely contained hurt, an open wound pulsing at Death's feet. "What if I give you my life for his?"

"You cannot bargain with me. You know this."

"Fuck what I know!" Dean shouts. "Fuck this shit about me knowing you and you knowing me! Cas saved my ass from hell; I'll save his ass from you!"

"You speak like a child about things you don't understand," Death replies, all calm serenity and stillness, stillness. "You cannot hope to defeat me, if that is your intention. The angel Castiel is gone, and that is that."

"But he's not gone," Dean gasps out, like dying breaths, like last words. "He's not. I can still feel him, I—I love him. Don't you understand? I love him!"

But Death does not know emotion. Death can't know emotion. If it did, then everything would not be the way it is and the dead would not stay dead, and the living would live till the end of days and hate for it. Love is a foreign yet familiar concept, a lover never known but remembered, somewhere, somehow.

Death has always known that Dean Winchester would love the angel Castiel, and the angel Castiel would love him back. Death has always known that some things don't end happily but sometimes just end, and he has learned to pity and he has learned sorrow, but that doesn't mean he can feel them.

"I am sorry," Death says, as sincerely as it can manage. It is unsurprised when Dean Winchester slams it to the ground and starts to beat Death mercilessly, but no blood can flow and there is no pain. Dean is crying now, screaming soundlessly and Death realizes that this is the first and last time Dean will mourn.

"I am sorry," Death repeats against the fist slamming into its mouth. And for just an instant, staring up into the tear blurred face of a lover destroyed Death wishes that it could cry because it would, yes, it would for these two, for the Righteous Man and his angel. They never had the chance to start and now they will never have a chance.

Will they?

Death leaves Dean Winchester collapsed in the old playground. His brother will find him there in the morning, sleeping on a bench visited by Dean only in his dreams.

(Death does not know the future nor does it pretend to know. Death does not know how, only that it will come, eventually. So when the soul of the angel Castiel leaves his clutches, Death is surprised. This is no one's work but the creature that has created everything and Death respects it, as it has to. Death has no doubts the angel Castiel, now human, now lost, will find Dean Winchester, or that Dean Winchester will find him. Death has no doubts about that, none at all.)

-IIII-

For some reason, I wanted to explore the psyche of Death. This was originally meant to be about Dean but ended up about Death...huh. (Shrugs at weird brain)


End file.
